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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25120435">Flickering (can you hear them, too?)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ridiculouslyhappy/pseuds/ridiculouslyhappy'>ridiculouslyhappy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Night Shift Can't Get Any Worse Than This! Archive [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Five Nights at Freddy's</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Gen, Mike Schmidt curses a lot™, Mike Schmidt is one unlucky bastard, Mild Language, Night Shift Can't Get Any Worse Than This! AU, Not Canon Compliant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:00:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,012</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25120435</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ridiculouslyhappy/pseuds/ridiculouslyhappy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Out of all the places he could've been hired to work at, he just had to pick the shitty overnight job at some shitty pizzeria with a bunch of shitty machines.</p><p>(This is Mike Schmidt's night right before his first shift at his new job.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Night Shift Can't Get Any Worse Than This! Archive [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1812565</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Flickering (can you hear them, too?)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>November 1999. Mike Schmidt is hired for the night shift. </p><p>This file, originally uploaded in 2019, had since been revised by our staff and added back into the system :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Out of all the places he could've been hired to work at, he just had to pick the shitty overnight job at some shitty pizzeria with a bunch of shitty machines. <strong>do you remember this place, michael</strong>? He took it because the less talking he had to do, the better, but a coworker or two would have been nice. The place took a complete 180 compared to how it was during the day- empty and cold.</p><p>Not that it felt too welcoming during the day, either. <strong>no, who else is here</strong>? He was urged by that manager guy to make sure no kids stayed behind. Apparently that was a popular game to play, only second to working here on a dare, and surpassed by trying to touch the bear's nose. </p><p>He heard about some pretty fucked up shit that went down here. Mainly people dying, which was actually mainly <em>night guards</em> dying. He thought he skimmed over something like that while signing the fifty-eight contracts they laid out, but he couldn't see how he missed something like that. </p><p>Not that he was scared or anything, but suddenly working here didn't seem like such a good idea anymore. Now he just wanted to prioritize getting the fuck out of dodge before he wound up on a missing persons list. </p><p>But it was too late. He was already here, two-sizes-too-big uniform and all, and this was the only job that hired him, so not like he had much of a choice, anyway. He already basically got the job out of pity. Usually they don't hire younger than twenty-one for the night watch, especially not someone fresh out of school, but apparently that manager guy explained the situation to the owner and, well, here he was. Something about that either gave him the best or worst luck in the world. </p><p>He couldn't tell if it was because of the rumors or whatever, but something here <em>had</em> felt familiar. That was saying something, too, considering his memory was shit most of the time, and he'd be lucky to recognize himself in a mirror.</p><p>The entrance doors swung open once he unlocked them, and he took one surveying glance over the dining room. Some fluorescent lights still on buzzed overhead, and even though it was dim, he figured he wouldn't need the flashlight just yet. According to the manager guy, the building operated on limited power at night, so he'd probably be in the dark at some point. Better to save it for then. </p><p>He really appreciated how his feet didn't slip out from under him, even when he was walking on the slick tile floor. His old shoes had been worn to the sole, barely any grip left, and his girlfriend surprised him that night with some new, old shoes (he'd have to thank her in person later). He sighed to himself, wondering what she was doing at her job.</p><p>The keyring chimed and his footfalls echoed in the large room, and even though Mike knew he was the only one here, he didn't really feel like he was <em>alone</em>. He swore he could still hear the sound of kids playing, with their high pitched, headache inducing screams. <strong>can you hear me, michael</strong>? </p><p><em>Fuck</em>, this place was <em>creepy</em>. He couldn't tell if the chill he felt down his spine was because he felt uneasy, or because whatever temperature it was inside was freezing his balls off. </p><p>Then he stopped short, promptly turning his attention to the nearest wall. Holy shit. There was no way he was <em>actually</em> seeing his breath. Was the thermostat seriously not on? They turned off central air and heat after hours, but for fuck's sake, he didn't think they were actually serious! It was thirty-six degrees outside! No way that was legal!</p><p>He rubbed at his arms more vigorously, thankful for the fact he at least had worn a sweatshirt underneath. Maybe he should've listened to his girlfriend when she told him to wear a jacket (not that he'd ever admit that, anyway).</p><p>This wasn't the first regret he was having tonight. That seemed to be the theme of the night. Regret. The job, the jacket, deciding not to wear socks knowing that his shoes were a size too big and his heels were being chaffed. Yeah, he wished he could've...changed things before being desperate enough to come here. Like not coming here at all. </p><p>But, he had already been hired, so here he would stay until he found something else. Something...better.</p><p>This job was already starting to drive him up a wall, though. Twice he stepped on old pizza slices, so now he had cold mozzarella cheese and runny pizza sauce ruining his (old) new shoes. Where were all the napkins? He met the janitor earlier, knew they had one, so he wasn't sure why the fuck he was here if he couldn't do the one job he was hired for. </p><p>He managed to maneuver the rest of the dining room without stepping in anything else. He was aware he had skipped visiting the Show Stage to just jump straight into the back areas of the building, but if he was being honest with himself, he didn't want to swing by there. They were just a bunch of goofy ass machines who you couldn't even pay him enough to approach. Apparently they'd be "coming to him" or some shit later on, anyway. Whatever that meant. </p><p>He wasn't proud about the amount of times he turned back- just to check, honest- but not seeing anything there wasn't exactly putting him at ease, either. <strong>can you see me, michael?</strong> He felt that there was something there, hovering behind him. Watching. He even patrolled the pizzeria again (he had the time to kill, anyway), but nothing out of the ordinary ever showed up. He was honestly hoping nothing did. It would suck for him to fuck up his job on the first night and be stuck with some kid for six hours already.</p><p>He <em>did</em> feel like he was being watched, though, and that alone made him want to make a break for the office. <strong>i don't want to, go away</strong>. But he held his ground. Didn't want to look like a baby on camera. Then he took one look at those creepy ass drawings lining the walls, and he had to remind himself that, even if no one else would see it, he would never be able to regain the dignity lost if he knew he got scared from some colorful crayon art.</p><p>More giggling. Seriously, the hell was up with that? He knew there weren't any children left in the pizzeria- he checked again (didn't he already do that?) at the advice of that manager guy, but he was starting to wonder if there were more than just those stupid auditory hallucinations he got. <strong>don't come back here, mikey. please leave</strong>. Never got them back to back like this before.</p><p>He swallowed harder than he intended to, and kept his eyes staring straight ahead, jaw tight. Great. Now his headache was worse. Before it was at least ignorable background noise, like when you weren't paying attention to the TV. Now, though, it had been promoted to a full on pain in the ass, enough to elicit a groan from him. If he had known he was going to be getting a splitting headache and hearing shit on his first night, he would've packed some aspirin. </p><p>Was it bad that he was starting to hate his job already? He just wanted to jump back in bed and snuggle up with his girlfriend, but then he remember, oh yeah, she was also at work, and the most he'd be snuggling up with would be pillows. He pulled a face and tried to focus on getting back to work.</p><p>The office smelled stale. <em><strong>stop talking to me</strong></em>. He knew he didn't really have room to talk about anyone else's hygiene habits, but damn, it was disgusting in here. He wondered when was the last time anyone bothered cleaning this place. The turnover rate was high. Probably no one stuck around long enough to bother with it. </p><p>Well, he had the time to spare, and he was feeling somewhat generous tonight, so Mike grabbed the wastebasket from under the desk and started tossing things out. He counted, like, fifteen crumpled burger wrappers, two empty soda cups, and a disposable cup of coffee. Except that last one was still halfway filled, and he was disgusted when some of it splashed back on him. His gag reflex nearly killed in. Ew. </p><p>The one perk of working in this musty little closet, however, was the one light bulb that kept the space lit. His eyes never really grew out of light sensitivity, so he was glad Management was just being cheap and brought the dimmest bulb available. Or maybe it was just old? Either way, it worked out in his benefit.</p><p>He still squinted, though, rubbing his eyes to adjust them faster. He reached over and clicked the power button on the computer, cleared away the rest of the paper balls, and grabbed a seat in the worn orange office chair.</p><p>The monitor booted up slowly. It was some clunky old thing, started screeching screams of the damned despite the fact it hadn't even turned on yet. </p><p>Then it fully clicked on with its bright ass light, and Mike wanted to die. Luckily, he wasn't using  that obnoxiously bright thing. He just had to boot it up, as per protocol. Why he had to boot the thing up if he wasn't going to use it was beyond him. </p><p>Instead, they got some fancy new tablet that basically pissed on all the paychecks of the minimum wage employees who worked there. But, it was supposedly an upgrade from the old desktop monitors. Had the bonus of being in color, too. The manager guy tried to show him how to use it earlier that morning, but Mike honestly didn't follow. Even when holding it in his hands made him wonder how he even turned it on. So much for "employee training."</p><p>Even if it took him a few tries to adjust to the tablet, it's not like his job would be hard. Staying awake was the easy part, and how hard could it be to make sure a couple of animatronics don't play prison break? He yawned, even though he wasn't tired. </p><p>Yeah, he wasn't tired. Just...bored. Wow. Bored already. If the next six hours would feel like these past few minutes, maybe he should bring something to do. Maybe he could bring in his Game Boy, depending on how much he actually had to do his "job."</p><p>Now it was just waiting for his shift to start. He got here two hours early, already used an hour and a half making sure he knew what he was doing, and now he had ten whole minutes left with nothing to do. He was supposed to be expecting a phone call soon, so at least that would keep him on his toes.</p><p>That manager guy told him he usually shoots the new guards a phone call for the first week or so, a sort of "initiation" for incoming "Fazbear Family Members" (never heard such a nauseating staff name before). That was one weird workplace ritual. Never heard of anything like it, but then again, he never had many jobs before. Maybe it was an American thing. </p><p>He took a swig of some soda he snagged from the kitchen and kicked up his feet, preparing himself to do, well, nothing. He'd basically be watching public access television, except the only show playing was looping, grainy camera footage. <strong>do you remember us, michael</strong>? Fun.</p><p>He wondered if he would ever adjust to working so late at night, on this damn...</p><p>Whoops. Almost said he was working the graveyard shift. That was technically true, but there was no way in hell was he calling it that. <strong>no he doesn't, leave him alone</strong>. </p>
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